“Tell you what,” Dylan says. “We’ll play left-handed. Give you a fair shot.”
“You sure about that?” I ask, keeping my expression neutral.
“Absolutely,” Mason says. “Can’t have people saying we didn’t give you a chance.”
I exchange a glance with Nina, and she nods crazily.
“All right,” I say, picking up a pool cue and testing the weight. I then set down my cocktail on a side table. “Let’s play.”
Nina breaks, not well, barely scattering the balls, but she gets in a solid. Perfect. She goes again and misses.
Mason is next, switching his cue to his left hand. He lines up the shot, hits it clean, but the angle is wrong and nothing sinks.
My turn.
I walk slowly around the table, studying the layout, very aware that both men are watching me. Their gazes track my movements as I lean over the table, lining up my shot.
The position stretches my jeans tight across my ass, and my crop top rides up slightly, exposing more of my waist above the gold chain.
I take the shot. Two balls drop in quick succession.
“Nice,” Dylan says, but there’s a note of uncertainty now.
“Thanks.” I straighten up, walking past Mason close enough that my arm brushes his. “Lucky shot, probably.” I take another shot and miss.
Dylan takes his turn, also left-handed, and does slightly better but doesn’t pocket any balls.
Nina misses on her turn, and Mason takes his turn with his left hand, failing. Now, he’s grumbling.
My turn again.
I sink three more balls, moving around the table with confidence now, no longer pretending to be uncertain. I have one more solid to go, then the black.
People are starting to notice. A small crowd is gathering, watching, sensing that something interesting is happening.
“What the hell?” Mason is staring at me. “I thought you said you hadn’t played in a while.”
“I haven’t.” I line up another shot, very aware of how Dylan has moved closer, watching intently. “But I didn’t say I was bad.”
Nina is cheering me on.
This shot requires me to lean far over the table, and I make sure to take my time so they get the full view of my body stretched out, the curve of my back, the way my jeans hug every inch.
I sink the ball, then straighten and walk directly toward Dylan as Nina is yelling out her excitement. Dylan doesn’t move, and I have to brush my ass past his groin to get to the other side of the table, my body sliding against his for just a moment.
His hand catches my hip briefly, fingers pressing into my skin through the thin fabric of my jeans. “You’re playing dirty.”
I glance up at him over my shoulder, our faces inches apart. “Says the guy who thought he could hustle us at pool. How’s that working out?”
“Terribly,” he admits with a grin. I turn around but am too damn distracted, and my ball zips right past the black one.
The game continues. The guys haven’t sunk a single ball.
Mason is watching me with an intensity that makes my skin tingle. Dylan’s eyes are dark, pupils dilated, and the muscles in his jaw are jumping when I walk past.
They want me. I can see it, smell it, feel it in the charged air between us.
And God help me, I want them too.
